


College Daze

by Nightmare97, SgtGraves



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst, Angst and Humor, Bonding, Bromance, Brothers, Caretaker Dean, Chief Castiel, Co-Athors, Co-Written, College AU, College Sam, College Student Sam, College neighbors, Crowley is a Little Shit, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Funny, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Halloween Special, Health Nut Cas, Humor, Interviews, Living Together, Mechanic Dean, Moose Jared Padalecki, Moose Sam, Moving In Together, New Age Castiel, One Shot, Original Character(s), POV Dean Winchester, POV Female Character, POV Original Character, POV Sam Winchester, Personal Trainer Dean, Pie, Real lift, Reality, Roommates, Sick Sam, Slice of Life, Squirrel Dean, Student Sam, Texas, Winchesters - Freeform, angel - Freeform, bacon is a gift, bad life choices, bad roommates, cas, crowley - Freeform, episode, is the only reason, light - Freeform, my angel, rowena - Freeform, shit happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:30:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmare97/pseuds/Nightmare97, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SgtGraves/pseuds/SgtGraves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ah, college. A period in life full of freedom, learning, experimentation, and finding self. Or sometimes, it's just filled with blundering between day-to-day happenings and trying to survive a job, classes, and sadistic landlords.</p><p>In other words, Sam and Dean share an apartment with the strange and oddly endearing Castiel. Neighbors, life, shenanigans, and shit happens. </p><p>Or a series of College AU Episodes.</p><p>Episode 1) - Love Thy Neighbor: in which gentlemen meet ladies and it's not so fantastic. </p><p>A Halloween Special) - Trick or Evic: what do you get when your devil of a landlord makes you plan a get-together? One hell of a party!</p><p>(Halloween Special now posted!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of college AU one shots labeled as episodes that aren't necessarily in order. Original characters are based on, well, real, living breathing people and most of the stories come from real (but mostly imagined) events. My friends and I don't live together but this is what might happen if we did...with the Winchesters as our neighbors. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Episode 1: Love Thy Neighbor**

 

* * *

 

 

“So…” Sam said, eying the coffee Dean had left in the chipped pot critically. “We have new neighbors.”

  
His brother looked up from where he’d been glaring at his half-full mug. It looked like the older brother might be attempting to will the vicious looking black sludge inside to spontaneously multiply. Dean in a less-than-caffeinated state was always something of an experience. Dean grunted something that may have been interest, but then again, it may just have been him encouraging the contents of his cup to breed.

  
“They’re females,” Sam offered.

  
That. There. The little eyebrow twitch. That may have been interest. He pressed onward. “Maybe they’ll want help bringing stuff in later. We could help them carry things up the stairs since we’re all off.”

  
Dean’s second monosyllabic reply was interrupted by the familiar scraping caused by the glass door that led to the small balcony. Castiel, the brothers’ roommate, swept into the living area accompanied by his usual scent of sandalwood incense.

  
“Sam, Dean,” he intoned, rushing towards them for a few steps before composing himself, “I have achieved transcendence.”

  
Sam and Dean both turned to him, surprised.

  
“Uh… What? Like you uploaded your mind to the internet?” Sam questioned tentatively.

  
Castiel explained with a bit more inflection than his usual monotone had to offer. “I think I have successfully mastered the connection with my true essence, and received a vision from my spirit guide!”

  
Sam blinked. Cas had always been prone to obscure meditation tactics, but this was weird, even for him.

  
“What?"

  
“Sam, I have finally balanced all seven of my chakras and the clear flow of natural energy has allowed me to commune with the honeybee.”

  
After a moment of thick silence, Dean stood up from their small kitchen table abruptly. “Bullshit.” He deadpanned, turning to the sink and pouring his coffee out as if it was the cause of what he had just heard. He made to leave, but Castiel shifted to stand in the doorway, a fervent and imploring look on his face.

  
“Honeybees are very spiritual creatures,” he tried to explain, “The very fact that they are able to fly is a clear indicator of their greater connection to the cosmic paths of a higher form.”

  
The cuffs of his trench coat (seriously how is he always wearing that) flapped wildly as he tried to illustrate his story. “I was meditating on the balcony as I do every morning, when I was accosted by a ferocious humming. At first, I thought it was the sound of energy flowing more freely through my aura, but then, I became concerned that it might be something more… malevolent.”

  
“Malevolent.” Dean’s second word of the day. Good for him, Sam still hadn’t found his yet.

  
“Yes. Seeing a vessel of yellow and black, I was reminded of my childhood, when I was first introduced to the chi blocking horrors of the wasp’s sting. Assuming it was a test of my commitment, I was prepared to assist in the passing of the wasp from this state of being to the next. But then, in a moment of what must have been higher intervention, it was revealed to me that this creature was, in fact, a pious honeybee.” At this point Castiel paused to reflect upon the significance of his morning’s exploits.

  
“And?” Sam finally spit out.

  
Castiel blinked his wide blue eyes at him for a moment, seeming to struggle with returning to the lowly physical world around him. “I followed it.”

  
Dean shot a very pointed look out the window over the sink and down to the apartment’s car lot, six stories below. “Did you grow spiritual wings and fly with him too?”

  
A slight crease appeared between Castiel’s eyebrows. “I- no. All bees other than drones are female, but-"

  
“Just continue Cas,” Sam interjected.

  
“Well, I watched the bee’s path, sensing a deep connection within myself. It led me to my vision."

  
Dean actually almost growled. “A vision. You had a vision?” Sam noted that his volume had increased well beyond his usual morning allowance.

  
“I believe so, yes. A copper haired young woman, an angel perhaps, was arriving here. It must be a sign, perhaps an omen of coming fortune-“

  
Dean graciously interrupted with another loud, “Bullshit.”

  
Insight of a more reasonable kind dawned on Sam. “No, no maybe Cas is right.”

  
Dean looked at Sam incredulously and Sam knew he was trying to get a read on his sanity. “Well, not right in that he had a vision and communed, or whatever, to bees. But he could have seen the new neighbors I mentioned. Were others with the girl you saw?”

  
“No, there was nothing but her.” Cas said, awed again by his morning.

  
Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Great, ok well, that’s all I can deal with on half a cup of crap coffee. I’m gonna get out before the fumes of whatever Cas’s been smoking get to me too.”

  
Sam knew where Dean was retreating to. “Bring me back a cup too.”

  
Dean waved a hand in acknowledgment as he toed his flip-flops onto his feet, keys and wallet disappearing into the pocket of his athletic shorts. “Be back in a few. Keep Cas inside, will you?”

  
The door closed behind Dean before Sam could make any promises.

 

 

* * *

 

  
Sam scrolled down his computer screen. He was midway through an article discussing the pros and cons of the Texas oil field expansion and its effects on paleontology. On one hand, all the new excavations had the potential to uncover treasures of the prehistoric world, but on the other, the crudeness of the digging could easily destroy them out of ignorance. He was leaning closer to the monitor to make out a graph emphasizing the increase of findings when the front door blew open with a crash.

  
“Sam, we gotta go.” Dean called loudly into the room, striding rather intimidatingly towards him. Sam had swiveled so sharply in his chair at the unexpected entry that his hair had whipped across his face and he had to spit out strands before answering.

  
“What? What’s wrong?” The apartment was on fire. Cas had fallen off the balcony again. Dean had gotten into trouble with the law and they needed to get out of the US and start over with new names-

  
“Nothin’s wrong, Sammy, just hurry, pie is on the line.” Dean said, waving away Sam's worry. His chest heaved and one hand held a mildly crumpled paper to-go cup from the Java-Lava and tucked under his arm was a taped cardboard box.

  
Sam sat and blinked up at his brother, restarting his brain and searching for how pie could fit anywhere in his known reality.

  
"Pie, like, apple pie and ice cream pie?"

  
Dean brandished his coffee at him.

  
"Yes, Sam, sweet pie baked with appreciation and gratitude."

  
Sam absently brushes droplets of coffee off of the hem of his bathrobe, "and...who is getting this pie?" He examined his wet finger tips. "Is that my coffee?"

  
"We are Sam, WE ARE. In payment for helping those new girls bring their crap up." Dean said, handing Sam the wilted to-go cup. The coffee was cold and more than half had been spilled, or possibly drunk, in the process of bringing it back.

  
Sam sighed. "Dean, this-"

  
"Come on Sam, I need your help. Think of the pie. Do it for the pie." He was backing towards the door, uncharacteristically eager to sweat on someone else's behalf.

  
"Dean, you're back." Castiel said, ghosting into the room. "And our masculine strength is required?"

  
Both brothers glanced at Cas.

  
"Yes Cas, good, you too, I think one of them is your copper haired chick, maybe."

  
Blue eyes brightened. "My angel needs me." The dark haired man sidestepped Dean and flung the front door open, intent upon rescuing his angel from harsh manual labor.

_Does anyone in this place know how to open a door gently?_

  
Sam rolled his eyes and stood, tossing the rejected coffee into the trash.

  
"Just let me grab my shh-shit!" Sam sputtered and jumped as both his flip flops smacked into his body, one into his chest, the other frighteningly close to his most vulnerable area. "Dean, what the hell!?"

  
Dean pin wheeled his arms like a traffic cop. "Vamos, Moose."

  
Sam glared and muttered something that sounded like 'jerk' as he shuffled into his sandals.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
“Aw, what a cute bitch face.” Dean chided as Sam met him in the hall way outside their apartment.

  
Sam’s come back was cut short because he had to throw himself against the wall to avoid a backhand from Castiel. He’d started some sort of yoga/Thai Chi moves in the hall that involved exaggerated breathing and violent arm waving.

  
“Cas, dude, what.”

  
“He’s trying the ‘sense’ his angel.” Dean provided.

  
“Didn’t you get their apartment num-“

  
“Huuuuuggghhhhhhhhmmmmmmmm” Cas interrupted, beginning the vocal portion of his episode.

  
“Quick, Dean, what’s their number before Cas gets us evicted.” Sam pranced in place, staring disbelievingly as Cas moved down an octave and started his routine over.

  
Dean scratched the back of his head and shuffled. “I didn’t get their number.”

  
“You...you didn’t get their number? Dean, how’d you think we were gonna help them without knowing where they are?”

  
“I know man!” Dean said angrily “I was distracted.”

  
“She was hot, wasn’t she.” Sam was glaring again.

  
“No, man, I mean, maybe, but she mentioned moving and then pie and I kinda…you know.” He shrugged helplessly.

  
Sam sighed again and looked back toward Castiel, who had abandoned his elaborate arm sweeps and had transitioned to reaching stiffly out towards the nearest doorway, head thrown back and eyes tightly closed. His obnoxiously loud breathing had not changed.

  
Cas stumbled a few steps closer to the door directly across from their own apartment, and pressed his palms flat against its surface. He made an oddly-pleased sounding hum deep in the back of his throat, accompanied by a slight circular motion of his hands against the door.

  
Sam was just cataloguing the different ways he might kill himself with the belt of his bathrobe. The feeling of some sort of impending doom intensified dramatically when he realized he was still in his bathrobe, in the hall, about to meet new people. _Shit_.

  
The expletive had hardly crossed his mind and Cas was still feeling up the door when said door swung open.

  
A girl stood there, blinking owlishly at Cas’s hands, which were still outstretched and blindly groping at the air about four inches from her face. Her blank expression swiftly changed to an impressively unwelcoming deadpan as her gaze shifted to Sam in all his bathrobed glory. Dean managed to escape her withering look by unobtrusively sidling to where he was hidden by Sam’s greater bulk.

  
Cas’s face, however, beamed. His eyes popped open and his mouth spread wide into a genuinely angelic smile.

  
The girl blinked once more. “Nope.” and slammed the door in his face, nearly removing his forearms.

 

 

* * *

 

  
Graves poked at the elevator button with her elbow, hands full of boxed household items. She frowned when she saw she’d only managed to push one of them. The wrong one. Lifting one foot, she was poised to start jabbing at the console again when the elevator door slid open , making her turn her upper body to peer around her boxes. The act of looking around her burden unbalanced her, and she had to plant her foot flat against the button panel to avoid falling. At least she got the right floor this time... And all the others.

  
The newcomer was a guy who couldn’t have been much older than herself, and looked for all the world like he’d just rolled out of bed. One side of his hair was flattened and the other stuck out, his t-shirt was crumpled, and his athletic shorts had holes in them. The look was completed by a to-go cup of coffee and a pair of ragged flip-flops. He stared at her, then looked at the well-lit buttons, frowning. He hummed softly, then took a small sip of his coffee, turning away from her to stare at the wall as the elevator door slid shut with a “ping”.

  
The incredibly awkward silence was only broken by the soft mechanical hum of the lift’s movement, and several long, long seconds later, another bright chime signaled their stop on the first floor.

As the doors slid shut again, Graves looked over at her companion with a nervous smile. “Only six more to go,” she offered.

  
The guy glanced at her sideways. “Uh huh.”

  
_Ass_. Graves thought, trying to shift some of her cumbersome boxes. The corner of one was digging into the soft spot right beneath her ribs, and as she tried to move it, one of the smaller boxes on the top of her load swayed precariously as the elevator ground to a stop at the second floor. Graves managed to right everything, and offered the guy another sheepish grin _. Did he move farther away from me?_

  
Another few seconds and they were on their way again with a cheery ding from the carriage’s speakers.

  
“So…” Graves desperately searched for small talk. Still five more floors and she hated this silence. “Is the pool nice?”

  
His jaw twitched and he took a slow drag from his cup before answering.

  
“I uh… Haven’t actually been.”

  
“Oh really?”

  
“Yah, my roommate, he uh, got us banned.”

  
“..oh” Graves said as again the conversation flat lined. She took a moment to consider the horrors he could have committed to get them banned.

  
The door pinged. It sounded mocking now.

  
Graves was tired of constantly adjusting her weight to balance her boxes, so she decided to lean against the wall. As she was beginning to tilt backwards, the elevator jerked into motion again, and the topmost box slid off. She could do nothing more than stare as gravity claimed the little cardboard container full of 100% breakable housewares and dragged it towards the unforgiving tile flooring.

  
She closed her eyes and stiffened, waiting for the inevitable noise of shattered dreams and breaking ceramics.

  
It did not come.

  
Cautiously opening her eyes, she saw that “Flip-flops,” as she decided to call her elevator-buddy, had shot an arm out and caught her precious box.

  
“Wow, dude,” she exclaimed, beaming at him. “Thank you so much! You have no idea what you’ve just saved- Drae would kill me if any of her mugs broke!”

  
Staring at Flip-flops expectantly, Graves, watched his face tork into a confused frown. His look went between her and the box in his hand for a few seconds. Another floor, another irritating bell noise.

  
“What’s a Drae?”

  
Her smile faded slightly, but she kept it up. _Small talk. I can do this_. “Well, ‘who’ is the more appropriate question. Drae is one of my roommates, though sometimes she can be a bit of a thing, especially in the mornings.”

  
One of his eyebrows shot upwards. “Right.”

  
Graves laughed weakly. “Yeah, she’s uh… Yeah.” _Maybe he’ll say something and save this._

  
“So, you guys are new?”

  
_Oh thank the lord_. “Yes!” Graves said brightly. “We just moved in, or, are in the process really. Who knew you could collect so much crap in so few years.” _Too much too much abortabortabort._

  
PING.

  
_Damn that sound. Only two more floors._

  
“Uh…”

  
Graves turned to him almost desperately. _Keep going, don’t leave me hanging here, Flip-flops_.

  
“Um. Do you want help with that?” He gestured with his coffee cup at her boxes.

  
She could feel her face light up with relief. “Oh, that would be amazing, thank you so much. You have no idea how stressed we’ve been about getting the couch up to the apartment. Not to mention the mattresses.”

  
He sort of made his face turn into a smile but the light dying quickly in his eyes said otherwise. “No problem.”

  
Graves had an idea then, that he might have only meant to help with the boxes she was _currently_ carrying, but it was too late to turn back now. “You know, I understand you’ve probably got plans and stuff, so maybe I could offer you some compensation?”

  
His pained grin tightened a little. “Right,” he said between his teeth.

  
“Well, I’m pretty good at baking, so, maybe once we get settled in I could send something over? I dunno, do you like pie?”

  
A little choked noise escaped him and his grimace disappeared. A calm, disturbingly calculating look replaced his former visage. “Apple?”

  
_Bingo_. “If that’s what you like. My great aunt had this amazing recipe, I promise it’ll be the best you’ve ever had!”

  
“It better be.” The door pinged again and opened onto the sixth floor. Flip-flops looked her in the eyes then. “I’ll go get my backup.” And he was off, a man on a mission.

  
The door pinged itself closed before Graves could thank him, or get her box back.

  
_Drae’s gonna kill me._

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
“What do you mean a Flip-flop wearing man child absconded away with my most prized possessions?” Drae practically shrieked, “And you just _let_ him?!”

  
Graves cowered slightly against the counter she was leaning against.

  
“He’ll bring them back,” she protested, “Honestly, he should be here any minute- and really, you should have seen him, he’s way into pie.”

  
Drae glared. “My mattress gets brought up first for this. And that pie better be damn glorious.” A sigh that could have fed an entire forest escaped her. “Why did you even have to ask for help? I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of exhausted and really not in the mood for new people. If I shred one of them, I will not be held responsible.”

  
Stag, the third roommate, rolled towards them across the floor. Her red hair stuck up in the back and there was a bit of carpet fuzz buried in it, but she looked pretty happy, as always. “I dunno, it’ll be nice to meet neighbors right away.” She said with a dazzling smile.

  
“And lets be real, how were we going to get that couch up here? This solves all those problems.” Graves said around a bite of apple.

  
“Do you know how many are coming? The couch is bad but Stag’s piano is probably the worst. Can they be trusted with such precious cargo? I mean, they’re men.” Drae asked flatly. She picked up mess of grey fabric from the floor and pulled it over her head, revealing it to be her favorite, oversized hoodie.

  
_That thing needs to be burned_ , Graves thought.

  
“Drae, chill, they will be well supervised.” _By that I mean you’ll be burning holes in them with your eyes._

  
Stag swung to her feet. “Drae, you’ll see, just think, with their help you’ll have your bed in by this afternoon!”

  
This drew a consolatory grunt from the hoodie swathed girl. “Yeah, but they’ll have touched it.”

  
Graves rolled her eyes. I better feed them before the troops arrive. _Hungry Drae is not for the faint of heart and Stags needs something to help focus her._

  
“Did you hear that?” Drae asked darkly, neck extending like a turtles from her gray shell.

  
Graves listened. “Um, no?”

  
Drae was already slipping off the plastic bin she’d perched on. “I’m gonna go look.” She drifted to the door muttering about murderers or something.

  
Graves crunched another bite as she rolled her eyes again. “Want something to eat Staggity?”

 

 

* * *

 

  
Drae wasn't much paying attention to the conversation anymore, her attention captured by something that sounded like voices in the hallway. "Did you hear that?" She asked, straightening up.

  
Graves looked at her skeptically and responded in the negative, and Stags looked invested in the prospect of food. Definitely tempting, but... Strange noises were to be investigated first. This was a new apartment and if there was some crazy serial killer ready to burst through the door, it looked like she was the first line of defense. Besides, this was like, horror movie etiquette 101.

  
"I'm gonna go look," she grunted, hopping off of an overturned storage bin she'd been sitting on. Padding over the carpet, she headed across the living area and to the door.

  
Drae leaned over and pressed her ear to the wood, not catching any distinct words, by there was definitely someone standing outside their door.

  
It was probably those guys that Graves had invited over. _Ugh._

  
Resigning herself to her fate, Drae pulled back and threw open the door. The sight that greeted her was not at all what she expected.

  
The first thing she noticed was a wide palm, only about two inches away from her face, fingers spread and making little grabby motions.

  
Uncomprehending, Drae stared blankly at the man behind the arms. Dark hair, somewhat unshaven, barechested besides a long tan coat, And wearing some sort of thin cloth pants that were so baggy they looked like they'd fill with air and carry him away at the slightest sneeze. Drae felt any hope she'd had of a safe, fairly normal day of moving crumbling as the man heaved in a loud, drawn out breath. As he let it out, he opened his eyes and grinned so widely that it had to have pulled something in his face.  
Shocked into a stony silence, Draes attention was caught by movement behind the man, where an incredibly embarrassed looking guy wearing flip-flops, _Flip-flops,_ she mentally hissed. He had the box of mugs clutched to his chest and he was trying to hide behind-

  
Oh Lord. What was _that?_

  
Someone had taken a small tree and put it in some horrible grey pinstriped bathrobe. The Groot guy was also wearing ratty flip flops.

  
Drae couldn't. She just... COULDN'T.

  
Spitting out her thoughts in an elegantly worded, "Nope." She slammed the door, hearing a slight yelp as it smacked the trench coat guy's arms on the way closed.

  
Drae turned around slowly and leaned against the door, glaring at Graves and Stags, who had paused in the middle of whatever they were doing at the sound of the door banging shut. "Well?" Graves asked, eyebrow raised. "Who was it?"

  
"My mugs aren't worth that." Drae growled, pushing away from the door and stalking towards the other girls. "Not even my bed is worth that."

  
"But... Who is it?" Stags asked, holding a slice of peach out to Drae.

  
The dark-haired girl took it and bit into it fiercely. "It doesn't matter," she said around the piece in her mouth. "They're not coming in, and we're not going out. We'll just have to hide and stay quiet until they're gone."

  
"Don't be so dramatic Drae," Graves chided, moving across the room to open the door. "I'm sure everything- oh." Drae leaned over a little to peer around Graves. The three miscreants were still there. Sweet heavens, Trench Coat still had his arms outstretched.

  
At Graves appearance, Flip-flops stuck his head out from behind Bathrobe cautiously and gave a little wave. "Um...Hi."

  
“Well Hi there, um..” Graves said, and godbless her, she took the waggling fingers in her face all in stride, and even saved the moment by grasping his hand and shaking it welcomingly. “Hi there, I’m Graves, by the way, and,” she released the dark haired man’s hand and stepped aside, waving back towards Drae and Stags. “These are my roommates, you met Drae.” Drae curled her lips in a way that could be a smile, but also could be a snarl ( hissssss ).“And Stag.” The red head moved forward with a wave and balanced a paper plate of peach slices in the other hand.

  
“Hi, thank you guys so much for doing this.” She said. “Peach?” She offered the plate to the men still standing in the hall.

  
There was a few heart beats of silence as Stag beamed around the circle.

  
Drae slouched around Graves and rested her chin protectively on Stag’s shoulder to glare narrow eyed at the men. She was not about to trust these hooligans around her dear sweet innocent friend.

  
Doing a slow once over, she noticed that Flip-flops and Groot were staring openly at Trench Coat. Her sharp gaze shifted to the weirdo. His eyes were impossibly wide and the smile was removed from his face, replaced by a slack mouthed awe. Fumbling slightly, he took a handful of the sliced peach, distractedly shoving them all into his mouth. Cheeks bulged as he chewed unhurriedly, eyes reverently trained on Stag’s face.

  
_O.K, that one’s mostly harmless._

  
Flip-flops nodded in slow resignation then stepped around Groot, who stood nervously twiddling with the loose belt of his bathrobe, offering the box of mugs out like a peace offering between two warring tribes.

  
“I’m Dean, and this is my brother, Moose. And chubby cheeks over there is Castiel.” Flip-flo..er..Dean said.

  
Drae swooped down on him, snatching her precious box from his grasp.

  
The Groot Moose's glower power was strong as he somewhat roughly pushed his brother out of the way to offer his hand. "It's Sam actually." And his face slid into a sincerely apologetic smile.

  
Drae sniffed at his hand and backed away as Stags and then Graves took it and shook.

  
"Well," Graves said with an unsure half smile, "If everyone's here, come on in and we can get started."

  
Dean strode in confidently, followed by Castiel or whatever his name was. Sam sort of stumbled in after them and grabbed Castiel's arm. "We should um," he mumbled, "We'll be right back," and dragged Castiel out the door again. A second later, another door slammed across the hall.

  
"So this is us," Graves said brightly, lifting her arms to wave around at the apartment. Various boxes of different sizes and shapes were strewn about, and some of them had been halfway unpacked, leaving an odd assortment of household items scattered around the space. There was a lone bar stool up against the counter.

  
Dean nodded, surveying the space. "Not bad. Pretty much like ours, flipped around a little."

  
"What's your name again?" Drae interjected, perched on the counter now with one leg drawn up to her chest.

  
He blinked and then smirked "I'm Dean. The uh... the one who 'knocked' on your door is Cas, and the tall freak is my brother, Sam." He said, giving them the run down again.

  
"Uh huh," Drae replied, grabbing another slice of peach from the counter and biting it, making a little slurping sound to avoid having it drip on her.

  
Before the situation turned more awkward there was a knock on the door.

  
"That's gotta be the other guys," Graves chirped. "Drae, go let them in."

  
"Why me?"

  
"Because you're closer, and I have seniority."

  
Drae growled, but jumped down and headed for the door. She opened it, and it was indeed the other two guys. Looking them up and down she saw that Bathrobe, or rather- "Sam" had changed into jeans and a faded plaid shirt, and looked pretty normal. His shaggy hair could still use some work though. "Cas", however, was still dressed a bit like a hobo. He had at least put a shirt on, but for some reason he kept the coat.

  
Finished with her once-over, she grudgingly stepped aside and let them in.

  
"Thanks," Sam said as he walked past.

  
She grunted, and refused to acknowledge Cas's little bow of gratitude. Immediately after closing the door, Drae went back to her place on the counter and snatched another peach.

  
"So," Stags said with a grin and clapped her hands together. "What'll we carry up first?"

 

 

* * *

 

  
"Well," Sam huffed softly as Dean, Cas, and himself trudged down the last flight of stairs," That was probably the most embarrassing introduction of my life." They had been joking about the earlier scene as they trotted down steps.

  
Dean shot him a look. "The _most_ embarrassing? Are you sure? What about that time-"

  
"Shut up Dean!" Sam hissed, elbowing his brother playfully as they pushed open the doorway to the stairwell. "Let's just get this over with."

  
Since the elevator was small, the girls had taken it along with some empty boxes, and the three guys had opted for the stairs. They were to meet their new neighbors out at their U-Haul trailer for another load. Sam was already beginning to like Graves, her open smiles and chatter making her easy to get along with and generally pleasant to be around.

  
Stag was sweet, encouraging, and also nice, though not quite as inclined to beginning a conversation though. She seemed completely oblivious to Castiel's obvious infatuation with her, and in what time they'd known each other, the two had spent much of it conversing about various composers, instruments, and other musical things.

  
Sam was a bit less sure about Drae. So far, about half of everything to come out of her mouth was snapping at someone to "No, leave that." Or, "Don't touch that!" Or, "break that and die." Everything else was sighs and little grumbling noises. Charming. At least she was productive. Well. "Productive" may be too strong a word. More like "Competitive about how much crap she carried."

  
The hoodie she persisted on wearing despite the warmth of the weather was a deep grey and made her look like some sort of wraith as she seemed to appear and disappear randomly to "check up on them." The high contrast between her dark clothing, hair, pale skin and light eyes didn't help.

  
Where Graves and Stag were open in expressions and easy in their conversation, Drae was hard to get a read on and undeniably snarky. Sam wasn't sure if it was some twisted initiation tactic or if she genuinely hated them. Whatever.

  
Squinting in the light of the outside world, the three men made their way along the side of the building to the small lot where the trailer was parked. It was finally, blessedly, almost empty. Dean stopped to say something to Graves, and Cas hovered awkwardly around where she and Stag were unloading something from the cab. Sam rolled his eyes fondly at Castiel's hopeless adoration and swung around the vehicle to the back to grab another box. Giving the remaining cargo a once over, he was glad to see that there was only one more full stack plus a couple more stools for the kitchen. He bent to grab one that was lying on its side, and promptly dropped it on his foot with a loud expletive. Drae was sitting on top of the last stack of boxes, hunched over so her head wouldn't hit the ceiling. How the hell did I not see her?! "What-" he sputtered, leaning against the wall to take the weight off his throbbing foot. "When did you- how- why are you even up there?"

  
Her eyebrow shot upwards and she grinned at his misfortune. "I dunno," she shrugged. _Shrugged, dammit._ "why'd you drop my chair on your foot?"

  
Sam glared. "Because you're up there."

  
The girl hummed. “Touché."

  
Cursing a little more under his breath, Sam flicked his foot a few times and then grabbed the last two stools, turning to leave the trailer.

  
"Hey, Sam."

  
He turned his head back to her, frowning slightly. "What?"

  
"Thanks for helping us," she offered, pulling some sort of package out of her hoodie pocket and ripping off a corner. "Do you like gummi worms?"

  
Sam gave a little snort of laughter, "S'that an apology?"

  
Drae grinned again, and Sam thought that it was probably the first time it'd been genuine. "I have been an ass today, haven't I? Eh, Take it how you will, you guys are alright."

  
"Alright?" He shot back playfully, putting down the chairs and sitting own on one. "You make us your little slaves all day and we're just alright?"

  
"Slaving?" She huffed and threw a brightly colored candy at him. “ A few tiny hours of moving boxes around is slaving? And you call yourself a man."

  
Sam made the mistake of ducking, and the sugary little projectile that would've hit him in the stomach caught in his hair. Drae laughed at him, and he ate it anyways.

 

 

* * *

 

  
Dean wiped the sweat from his forehead onto the sleeve of his t-shirt. The dark fabric was already soaked through and Dean was pretty sure his forehead was wetter after the wiping down. They'd been at it for hours and finally gotten a pretty good system down. One person, usually Stag, would hold the elevator door while the rest loaded it down with boxes and items and shit. They'd all pile in and ride it up and repeat the process, only offloading the crap onto the landing and then hauling it all into the girl's apartment. Good thing the apartments were fairly empty this time of year, and at that hour on a weekend not many people came to pester them about hogging the only elevator. But if someone did want it, well, tough shit.

  
To be fair, they each really didn't have tons of stuff, but three people's clothes still makes a hell of a pile. At any rate, the last elevator full was in route to the 7th floor but in the attempt to make it really the last one, the crew had stuffed it really full. So now Dean began the long trek up the stairs for what felt like the millionth time, carrying a box that wouldn't fit.

  
_Stairs are good for you my ass._

  
The door at the bottom of the stair well swung open and Dean peered over the railing to see who it was. He could barely make out the top of Graves' head over the box she was carrying.

  
"No room at the inn?" He called to her.

  
She shifted the box to look up at him.

  
"Nah, I gave my spot up to Cas, I was worried he was going to faint if he had to climb stairs in that coat. Seriously, does he ever take it off?"

  
"Only to wash it, which isn't often." Dean said, waiting so she could catch up.

  
To be honest, he was pretty impressed by Graves' strength. She was nearly as useful as Sam when it came to lifting and never once got distracted by items that were uncovered in the process. Stag had pored over a long forgotten music score that's slipped out of a drawer which distracted her, and by extension, Cas, for the better part of the morning.  
Drae carried stuff. Her stuff mostly. And only because she didn't trust them to do it properly. She'd nearly gnawed Sam's arm off when he's moved to stack some of her art supplies on top of more art supplies. That'd set her off on a rant about "keeping the integrity of the art" or something. Whatever. They mostly didn't touch the boxes labeled with her name.

  
But pound for pound Graves had hauled as much as him and all with an unflappable optimism.

  
Deans good-ish mood had long since melted away in the Texas heat, so he didn't know how she kept up that smile that showed off her dimples.

  
_God, I'm staring._

  
Dean snapped his eyes ahead again and began climbing, Graves a few stairs below.

  
She was humming, _Humming_.

  
"Would you stop?" _Stop being freaking cute. Stop. Stop being my neighbor because I don't do apartment building relationships._ He realized he was being an asshole. But maybe he'd earned that right a few box loads ago.

  
"Oh, sorry." She said softly.

  
They plodded in echoey silence.

  
"I'm sorry we ruined your Saturday." Graves said after a moment. "I know it sucks but we're -I'm- really grateful."

  
"Yeah well, you promised pie."

  
She laughed and it sounded pretty even bouncing off the concrete. Seriously, Dean was gonna have to stay way, way away.

  
"I knew I had you hooked when I mentioned pie. I guess that was manipulative of me but I really don't think we could have done it without you guys. Seriously, you dah best."

  
Dean snorted and noted that it didn't sound pretty. "You could have."

  
"Pffft. then you'd only have two new neighbors because I'd have died of heat stroke." She paused and reflected. "Or I would have killed Drae and Stag."

  
Dean wanted to see the look on her face because she sounded like she meant it but he didn't want to risk tripping and braining himself of the stairs.

  
They were near the seventh floor exit. Dean bludgeoned open the door with his foot because it had a way of sticking and blocked it for Graves to pass.  
She walked in front of him in the hall and good lord he was seriously glad she hadn't been leading on the stairs because he _would_ have tripped.

  
_Freaky weird new neighbor girl. Hands. Off, Dean,_ he was telling himself as they reached her door.

  
Graves turned, smiling again. "But like I promised, it's gonna be the best pie you've ever tasted."

  
Dean blinked down at her sweat covered, beaming face and knew he was in deep shit.

  
"Yeah, totally worth it."

 

 

* * *

 

  
Three mattresses, two chairs, one digital piano, a couch, and a shit ton of boxes later they had done it. It had taken them the better part of the morning and afternoon, but by Satan's beard they had done it. Sweating from the oppressive Texas heat and beyond caring, the six lay strewn around the girls newly filled apartment. No one really spoke. The effort seemed too great and besides, there was now a familiarity in the group that only slaving for hours could build.

  
"I need a beer." Dean said to the general agreement of all.

  
"But we don't have any." Stag said, "only overly warm wine."

  
"When I worked in a vineyard, I got used to enjoying wine warm. Brings out the character and intensity of the flavors," Castiel said from where he sat on the floor, back pressed against the piano stand, legs splayed straight out in front of him.

  
"We have a six pack in the fridge." Sam said absently from the couch, staring blankly at the revolving ceiling fan. Their refrigerator seemed too far away, it might as well be in Europe.

  
Dean grunted as he pushed up from one of the stools. "I'll go, this isn't a celebration without beer."

  
Graves also stood as Dean shuffled stiffly towards the door.

  
"I'll dig up some snacks. You guys cool with nachos?"

  
Positive groans sounded from various bodies.

  
"I'd help you," Drae mumbled from a pile of towels and blankets. "But I. Just. Can't. Move." Her arms flopped about her like the useless wings of a penguin.

  
"S'ok, l'll manage."

  
Dean returned with the beer just about the time Graves was popping the food into the oven and everyone grabbed a beverage. Companionable silence descended until the oven timer chimed and the smell of crispified cheese and beans roused the group. Like a cloud of vultures, they collectively swooped down upon the tray as Graves pulled it from the oven.

  
“Hey, I didn’t burn it!” She exclaimed triumphantly.

  
“I knew you could do it!” Stag remarked at the same time Drae muttered “That’s a first.”

  
“They look amazing but to be honest I’d eat anything at this point.” Sam said, dragging a portion of molten cheese onto a paper plate.

  
“Anything? I don’t know, I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry –or brave enough- to eat anything Cas makes again.” Dean managed to say around a massive mouthful. The girls exchanged curious eyebrows.

  
“Don’t you want any, Castiel?” Stag asked, noticing the dark haired man hadn’t dived in like the rest.

  
“I try not to partake in any faire that’s come from an animal, cheese included.” He said, even though his eyes looked decidedly wistful towards the rapidly disappearing food.

  
“Oh, well, that’s nice of you.” Stag said, again at the same time Dean mumbled “It’s fucking stupid.”

  
Drae and Graves shot each other amused glances while Sam not-so-stealthily jabbed Dean in the ribs with his elbow. “You know,” Drae offered, brandishing a chip dripping in cheese- she tended to pick around the prominently bean bites- in Cas’s general direction. “I actually tried that vegan thing once in high school.” Her declaration was met with surprised looks from Graves and Stag.

  
“I… didn’t know that.” Graves said after a second.

  
Stag looked mildly hurt at the prospect of being deprived of this aspect of Drae’s personality for so long, and the dark-haired girl was quick to continue. “It lasted until the next time my Dad cooked bacon.”

  
Dean hummed around his chewing before saying, “I guess,” He swallowed his mouthful, “I could understand not eating the yogurt and cottage cheese and shit, but _bacon_ ,” He paused and closed his eyes in blissful imagination. “Bacon is one of the single most precious resources known to mankind.”

  
Drae nodded sagely in agreement, even as Sam rolled his eyes. “I’ve never particularly enjoyed the thought of eating a pig’s ass,” he muttered sarcastically. His comment was met with two sudden frowns.

  
Taking initiative, Stag jumped in before the situation could escalate further. “Hey Castiel, if you’re hungry, I could make something else? We don’t have a lot in the way of groceries, but could make a kale salad for us.”

  
Cas’s eyes widened hopefully. “I adore Kale,” he breathed in a way that probably meant something closer to, “I adore you and all you touch becomes good and pure in my sight.”

  
Dean snorted around his latest mouthful of cheese. “Whatever man,” he grunted. “More for us.”

  
As Stag pulled a chopping board from a drawer and directed Cas towards a head of the leafy greens in the fridge, Graves turned her attention to the other two guys. “So,” she questioned, leaning on the countertop, “What exactly do you have to do to get banished from the pool?”

  
Dean and Sam exchanged decidedly embarrassed and mildly panicked expressions. “Well…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you get when the your Landlord wants you to throw a Halloween get-together? One hell of a party!

 

**A Halloween Special: Trick or Evic**

 

* * *

 

Graves nearly spilled the hot coffee she was sipping when the loud banging came from the girls’ apartment door. A hurried glance at her phone screen told her it was barely past 7:00 in the morning. She'd always been an annoyingly early riser, something she had yet to appreciate about her internal clock. But 7:00, hell, before 9:00 in the morning hardly seemed like the appropriate time for visitors. Another round of banging had her flying up from the comfort of the couch and rushing to the door before the ruckus could wake her still sleeping roommates. Wrenching the door open, Graves flinched back in surprise as she narrowly missed a painful introduction with a hammer, a literal hammer, that had been the cause of the noise.

"Oh, watch it love, would have been a shame to mess up that pretty face," said the man attached to the hammer in a thick, rough accent.

Graves recovered herself and took in the short, balding man before her in the hallway. "I'm sorry, what....what are you doing?" she asked, pulling her oversized shirt she wore as a sort of robe tighter around her. The man reminded her of a leprechaun, well, the kind that wore black suit vests and wielded hammers… _Speaking of hammers_.…

"Makin' an announcement." He said, using his tool to point at their door. Or rather, the wall directly beside their door.

Graves was hesitant about leaving the safety of her doorway and venturing into the unprotected and vacant hall with the strange man. Admittedly, he looked more bored than intimidating. "Something going on?" She inquired, compromising and leaning precariously out to peer at the paper crucified to the wall.

The man sighed deeply, twirling the hammer. "Halloween party, love, for the entire complex."

"Oh, that sounds…Fun. Does that say mandatory?"

He'd stopped mid-twirl. "That it does, by proclamation of me, your owner." He grinned evilly.

Graves stared at the man, sudden recognition shouldering its way into her head. "Oh! So you're Crow-Mr. Crowley?"

Crowley waved in acknowledgment as he turned away, hefting the hammer to nail another summons beside the Winchester's door. Graves surged forward, prepared to un-arm the man. "Oh, I can tell them, you know, no need to use another flyer," she said, halting his assault on the wall. _Or wake them up._

The landlord cocked his head, wicked grin turning into a knowing smirk. "Is that so? You all buddy-buddy with the boy band?"

"I um...I can do the face painting for the party?" Graves blurted, flushing deeply but desperate to change the subject.

The short man drew back thoughtfully, tucking the weapon of mass sleep destruction under one arm. He appraised her, stroking his well-maintained goatee. She felt vulnerable under his calculating gaze and shuffled a few steps away. "Well," he said, clapping his hands together in sudden decision, " _so_ glad you volunteered, might as well have it in your apartment then, shall we?"

"I'm...have what-"

"I'll contact you with the further details, you can be in charge, full say!" He was slipping away down the hall towards the elevator, gesturing widely. "And of course, I'll be providing the funds. Cook? You and your mates can cook?"

"I, yes but...what?" Graves managed, utterly bewildered.

"Good! This will be fun, party at 701," he snapped his stubby fingers, "I'll update the flyer."

And he was gone, leaving Graves standing on the threshold of her apartment, not entirely sure of what just happened.

 

* * *

 

"Dean can do the barbecuing, but we'll have to roll the grill onto ya'lls balcony since, you know, Cas." Sam said, squinting at the computer screen over Grave's shoulder, trying to make out the extensive email Crowley had sent over.

"Oh thank God. OK, you guys are doing the meat, and you said you'd make up the drinks?" Graves asked, turning to a blank notebook page as she spoke. "That will leave us in charge of the sweets and...." She glanced at the screen, "….The salads. Right, we can do this." She started scribbling out the beginnings of a supply list.

"Why are we doing this at all, shouldn't it be someone else's problem?" Drae groused around a mouthful of pizza.

The girls had invaded the Winchester's apartment, on invitation, after Graves had received the email explaining the details of the Halloween party she was  _inadvertently_ in charge of. The extent of the undertaking quickly advanced beyond Graves’ culinary know-how and left her floundering for help. Calling in back up troops had lead to an unofficial party planning meeting, and pizza, soft drinks, and limbs were now strewn everywhere around the boys’ space.

"Drae, I'm not sure how, but it's _our_ problem," Graves said without looking up from the growing list.

"Well, I'd have told him to fuck off if it'd been me," the dark haired girl continued, sipping at a soda.

"Yeah, and then you'd set your monster on him," Dean mumbled from his face-down position across the couch.

"Jensen is not a monster, he is a gift," Drae said primly.

The object of their discussion was Drae's beloved pet blue-tongued skink, against whom Dean had a personal vendetta. To be fair, the lizard  _did_ have an uncanny fascination with Dean and once or twice might have expressed his affection by playfully biting at an unsuspecting Dean's ears. Then there was the time when Dean had made the mistake of putting his boots on while Jensen was inhabiting the left one, earning Dean another love bite on the toes.

Before the conversation could continue and inevitably escalate, Graves swiveled to face the room. "Dean, can you tell me what you need to make proper burgers and hotdogs? Condiments? Buns?"

"Might I suggest a vegetarian option? I know a delicious brand of tofu burgers," Cas interjected from the dining table, which he was sitting on top of.

The couch made sad squid noises as Dean lifted himself from it with a sigh. "Give the list here." He took it and bent over the computer desk, scratching out his needs.

"We'll need plates and glasses, utensils too," Stag said as she tossed her own paper plate into the trash.

"Crowley says he's got it covered, as well as the decorations," Sam answered, still scrolling through the email.

Graves looked around at them all, the stress of the party planning lifting a little. "I guess then, all we need to do is get the food and have it ready by 8:00 on Halloween night."

"At least we have plenty of time to prepare," Stag said, now folding herself into one of the armchairs, smiling broadly.

"He's still an asshole for dumping this on us," Drae growled.

"But Drae, it's an excuse to dress up!" Graves wheedled, poking at the grumpy pile of hoodie with a grin.

The mound groaned, but looked pleased at the idea.

"I don't need an excuse to dress like a badass," Dean proclaimed, tossing the pen over his shoulder and swaggering back to the couch.

"Is that what you call it," Graves muttered under her breath, causing Drae to stifle a laugh.

Stag on the other hand, didn't look so pleased. "Do we really have to dress up?"

"Yeah, another mandatory proclamation of that devil's. Which sucks, because I can never buy a costume that fits," Sam sighed, turning to the conversation.

"Buy? Who said buy?" Drae rubber-necked to look at Sam.

"Dude no, you can't buy a Halloween costume, half the fun is making one from scratch," Graves said incredulously.

"More than half the fun," Drae added.

"Really? So you guys have made all your past Halloween costumes?" Sam asked, returning the stares of disbelief at the same time Dean snorted, "I bet they all looked like the shits."

Drae smoothed the front of her hoodie dangerously. "I bet they're better than anything you could come up with."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Oh is that so? You doubt my creative skills?"

"No, I just doubt they're better than mine," she replied, flicking her eyes up at him.

"Well, it’s on," Dean said, shooting finger guns. "Whoever has the best homemade costume doesn't have to help with party clean up."

"Deal."

"Oh man, I wouldn't have made that deal, Drae is fierce about her Halloween costume," Graves warned, exchanging knowing looks with Drae.

Stag broke in, "We all should do it! It'd be fun!" She was starting to look excited now.

Evaluating glances flew around the group.

"I accept this challenge," Cas intoned solemnly, slipping off the table to stand at attention.

Graves nodded. "Ok then, let's do it."

"Man, it'll be good to not have to clean up," Dean said, stretching his arms overhead, hands coming to rest at the back of his neck after a dangerous journey through his hair.

Yes, the eye-rolls were audible.

 

* * *

 

There were 7 floors in the apartment building, four apartments to each floor, 3 to 4 bedrooms to each apartment. With only 21 of the 28 apartments currently occupied, the estimated Halloween party head count floated tentatively around 80. But, by the frankly alarming amounts of food, Graves was sure they could feed the entire block. Dean had grilled what looked like three cows worth of burgers and hot dogs, plus exactly one tofu burger for a certain known vegetarian. Sam's makeshift drink bar looked dangerously close to collapsing under the weight of all the different and mystifying bottles. The crowning sin though, could be found lined out on both the Winchester's and the girls’ kitchen counters. They'd quickly realized one apartment wasn't going to hold all the people likely to come, so there were decorations and food stations spanning both apartments. Graves surveyed the array of sweets and baked goods before her in her own kitchen. It'd taken the better part of the week preparing, but the resulting tasties would make any pro-baker proud.

She picked up a handful of chips from a coffee table as she passed through the apartment on her last inspection. Everything looked great, and this really was as good as it could get. The decorations were actually spooky, and not just cheesy, thanks to some extra love and TLC under the hands of Drae and the critical eyes of Stag. The lighting had been dimmed with orange tissue paper that cast a properly festive light. And, of course, there was food everywhere.

Passing in front of a mirror, Graves tugged at the edge of her blouse and straightened her corset. With the intensity of the party planning, she hadn't had much time to invest in making a new costume, so the gypsy-pirate garb had been hastily scrapped together out of all three girls’ closets. It was definitely a more authentic interpretation. Drae on the other hand had gone all out, converting, magically it seemed, a ratty black hoodie into a spiked, scaly, entirely convincing dragon hide, complete with wings and a tail. She'd even designed and made an adorable bumble bee costume for Stag, and more impressively “convinced,”- _forced_ \- her to wear it. It really was cute. A basic black dress belted with a yellow sash and accented with a barely-there yellow petticoat. The queen bee look was competed with black stockings, black heels, yellow and black elbow length gloves, and a headband fashioned with antennas. Drae had also spent a good chunk of time crafting gossamer bee wings that protruded enthusiastically from the redhead’s shoulders.

Graves’ costume contributions included a fierce, full face dragon painting and two exaggerated blush spots.

Yes, they'd done pretty well this year, considering. Or, at least, well enough to beat the guys. _More than likely._

Graves hadn't seen Sam and Castiel since they'd left after helping set up and decorate to change into their costumes, but Dean had been out on their balcony grilling in his Iron Man mitt all afternoon. He’d wanted to build the whole suit, but it’d turned out to be too ambitious, and would probably be illegal with all the gadgets he’d planned. As it was, he had only managed to turn a right-handed pot-holder into a fireproof metal mitt. Fortunately, he did already own an “Arc Reactor” t-shirt, so he’d thrown that on and called the whole attempt done.

Graves propped their front door open with a cauldron full of candy and proceeded into the Winchester's apartment, blocking the door open with a similarly stuffed bucket.

"Trick or treat!" she called into the room, pleased with the way the decorations looked over here as well.

Sam's head popped up from behind the drink bar, and he stood up holding two bottles of wine. "Hey, nice costume, you a gypsy?"

"Yep, and you are...what, an accountant?" Graves guessed, taking in the bland business suit.

Sam sighed, and set his bottles down to dig out an official looking FBI badge, complete with his photo ID.

"Oh, nice!"

"Yeah, I don't think I'll be winning. Costuming just isn't my....thing."

Graves smiled. "Mine's just a closet clean out too. Can I help with anything?"

 

* * *

 

Sam opened his mouth to answer in the negative- he couldn't think of anything, and besides, Graves had been doing most of the heavy work with the party planning, so she really should have some time off before the horde moved in- but he lost his train of thought as something came flying into the room. There was a brief flash of black, and then it disappeared.

Graves turned to see what he was gawking at, and then looked back at him curiously. "What?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Seeing ghosts already?"

Sam blinked, jaw working. "What was… You didn't see that?"

"What exactly was it I was supposed to see?" She asked skeptically.

He glared at her and forced down the unnerved feeling in his chest, trying to kill it with logic as he turned to retrieve cups from the cabinet next to the sink. So he was seeing things now. He hadn't had nearly enough coffee today to begin hallucinating and he had far too much confidence in his drink-mixing abilities to need to taste his creations, so it clearly wasn't alcohol. Stress maybe? Excessive stimulus to the temporoparietal junction areas of the brain caused by the Halloween season?

A slightly metallic sounding rustle came from behind him and he turned, only to find himself confronted with- _Oh shit, what- Black leathery hide, dark green scales, more spines, horns, ice colored eyes, and-_ Sam's split-second attempt at identifying the creature was interrupted by it rising further up into his face and opening its mouth, issuing a loud rattling hiss that exposed gleaming fangs far too close to his jugular. Letting out an eloquently worded "Fuck!" in rejection of his reality, he tried to fling himself backwards and away from danger. He only succeeded in slamming his spine against the sink's edge, and it was on the rebound that he registered the loud and surprisingly familiar laughter coming from his attacker. Graves was also doubled over the counter on the other side of the little kitchen, shoulders shaking with mirth.

"Are you- I freaking hate you both!" Sam wheezed at them, supporting himself with one arm on the counter-top. "What the hell Drae?!"

Through her fit of giggling, Drae managed to send him a little wave. "Hey Sam," she finally said, flashing him another smile and exposing falsely sharp teeth. "Sorry about that."

Sam glared fearsomely. "No you aren't," he growled.

She deflated a little at that. "Well, I-"

"Oh, come on," Graves said, coming around the bottle-filled counter and moving to sling an arm around her friend's shoulders. "It's Halloween! Embrace the spirit of things!" She shook her little fist at him with vigor.

Sighing, Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he huffed, "I really should've been expecting something like this." He'd seen Drae pull exactly the same sort of teleportation-freaky-sound-effects scare on Stag and occasionally Graves. Heck, he'd even been cajoled into participating in some of the shenanigans.

"Damn straight you should've," Graves agreed matter-of-factly, "but check out her costume!"

Drae was quickly back to grinning through her dragon face paint and stepped back, giving Sam a little more space to view. She really had run away with it, wearing a black-leathery looking hoodie with bits of dark green metal sewn into scales and plates along the back. The jacket's hood had been crested with more pointy scales and horns, and she'd also made some good-sized wings, which furled down along her shoulders and past her waist to where a long spiny tail completed the look. _I hope no one steps on that._

"That’s pretty awesome," he offered letting go of his disgruntlement, "you guys really kicked our asses."

Graves raised an eyebrow. "Well, maybe," she said smugly, "but you haven't seen Stag yet and we haven't seen Cas, so it's a little early to pass judgement. "

Sam hummed. "He disappeared to change like half an hour ago, he should be done soon."

"What is he?" Drae asked, hopping onto the edge of the counter and eying Sam's assortment of bottles.

"I'm not actually sure," Sam said, pulling an unlabeled jug of a dangerous looking green concoction-  _Oh crap that's Dean's Absinth, I need to put that away_ \- out of her curious hands. "He never said."

Under her face paint, Drae pouted at him for taking away her toy. "Huh. By the way..." She looked him up and down slowly and he tried not to squirm. "What are you?"

Sam let out a disappointed breath,  _inevitable question, apparently,_ and fumbled his faked FBI badge out of his pocket, throwing it at her before turning to hide the bottle he was holding below the sink among their cleaning supplies.

"Sweet," Drae said appreciatively, whipping the ID back at Sam, smacking him in the stomach with it as soon as he'd turned back around. "But I'm pretty sure- certain, really,- that that hair isn't on par with regulations."

He grimaced and stuffed the little wallet into his suit jacket's inside pocket, protesting weakly, "Well, I'm not gonna  _cut_ it."

Drae hummed at him. "I guess you could be the newest incarnation of James Bond," she offered.

"Yeah," Graves chimed in, grinning widely, "you'd be way better than that Craig guy."

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of noisy clacking on the tiled hallway floor which was accompanied by the audible swish of heavy fabric. The three turned to watch as Castiel swept into the room, dressed in a full ceremonial kimono, completely decked out with wooden sandals and headdress.

Drae pounced on him, immediately drawn to the shiny fabric. Sam saw the blue eyes widen in the same split-second of terror that he suspected had crossed his own face earlier when Cas caught sight of what was pawing at his luscious fabric.

Graves gasped and let out an awe-filled, "Oh Cas, that's beautiful."

Castiel bowed low before addressing them his his usual rough voice. "Sam, Graves....Drae?" The last was more of a question but the girl-dragon was too busy inspecting the intricate silk pattern to acknowledge it.

"Cas, man, where did you get that? It looks...real." Sam said incredulously, coming around the table for a closer look.

"I was once friends with a gentleman from the orient. I was the equivalent of his best man at his marriage ceremony," Castiel replied. "These robes were made for me to attend and preform my duties as such." As he spoke, he spread his arms to better show off the long sleeves. Drae made an irritated growling noise and he quickly dropped them so she could continue...whatever she was doing.

Sam didn't know anything better to do than stare, amazed again by the things that come out of his roommate’s mouth.

"Well it's a beautiful memento- Drae, ugh, don't get the hem dirty with your face paint." Graves said, stepping up and dragging the girl off by the tail to rescue Cas. Just in time too, it looked like Drae was about to take a bite out of the red silk to test the authenticity.

"Yes, thank you, lady Graves, I was hoping you'd help me with my own face." He said, eyebrows furrowing, hands smoothing the creases left by Drae's attack.

"Oh yeah? Lady Graves? I like that! Whatcha need?" She responded, pushing Drae farther away before rubbing her hands together eagerly, or perhaps maniacally. It was hard to tell when it came to Graves and art.

"How are you with-"

Before Cas could finish, a gale of laughter spilled in from the hallway and Dean sauntered in with his widest shit-eating grin, followed by Stag and a girl Sam didn't recognize. The two girls were still giggling as they came in.

"Hi everyone!" Stag said cheerily, "Happy Halloween! This is my friend from school, Mish, she's one of the other crazy organists." She gestured to the girl beside her.

The newly introduced Mish smiled brightly around the room and waved. "Hi guys, good to see you again Graves, and whoa, Drae? Drae, that's awesome!"

While the girls partook in the usual round of hugs and compliment exchanges, Dean crossed over to Sam and began fixing himself a whiskey.

"Heyah Sammy, didn't know they made suits that big."

Sam scowled at his brother. "Very funny, Oven Man."

Dean set the whiskey bottle down with a clink and lifted the generous glass in his re-purposed metal oven mitt. "Take it easy man, I dig the whole tax accountant look."

"I'm not- what about this says tax accountant? I'm FBI!" Sam said annoyed, straightening the bottles Dean had messed up.

"Hummmmm." Dean leveled an appraising eye at Sam. "It's the hair, not FBI regulation length."

"Ok seriously, how does everyone know that but me?"

Dean shrugged and took a sip of his drink. "Don't tell them this,” he said conspiratorially, “but I think the girls beat us."

Sam folded his arms and nodded. "Yeah, Drae's dragon is pretty freaking brilliant and Stag's, which I guess Drae also made, is gonna be a serious hit with a certain Asian dignitary."

Dean hummed again into the rim of his glass, surprising Sam by not jumping in with his own sarcastic comments. He looked pretty distracted. Sam followed his brother’s gaze to the tissue papered lighting overhead.

"The decorations are pretty good too, Drae did amazing with the crap Crowley set over." _Compliments? What's with all these Drae compliments?_

Dean nodded absently, eyes flickering to the group of girls still chatting animatedly and then back up to the lights.

Sam looked between them and Dean."You ok, Dean?"

The older brother started and turned to the bar, quickly throwing back the rest of his whiskey. "Yeah, peachy. Fix me another?"

 

* * *

 

_Don't look at the corset, don't look at the corset, don't look at the- oh God, THE CORSET._

 

* * *

 

Crowley had arrived soon after the introductions with Mish had been finished, and on his heels came a large crowd of apartment-dwellers. Sam guessed there were now around 60 people milling around, and from his station at the "bar" he had a prime spot for watching them all.

Arriving in costume was another mandatory part of the evening, and as Crowley stood by the door greeting stragglers, anyone he deemed "underdressed" was quickly stuffed into one of the completely outlandish surrogate costumes he'd brought. So far, his victims were a large, athletically built man who'd been wrestled into one of those sexy-maid costumes with a stiff threat from the complex owner, a scrawny frat kid put into a hula outfit complete with coconuts, and a woman who'd been shamed into some sort of Heman garb.

Sam himself had been subject to almost everyone who came to the bar asking him about his dress-up, so he'd taken to propping up his ID against one of the bottles near him.

He was momentarily distracted from his people watching by a gloved hand thrusting something towards his face. Lurching back a few inches, he found himself staring at a mug emblazoned with a heart, and followed a dark arm up to….He was confronted by a tall individual of indeterminable gender, who's face was covered in a World War II vintage gas mask and captain's hat. The figure was further obscured by purple-tinted goggles and a thick charcoal trench coat.

"Um," he said, noticing the striped drinking straw they were now brandishing at him in their other hand, "Can I help you?"

"GREETINGS BOOB!" A boisterous computerized voice issued from behind the mask, "I REQUIRE A SAMPLE OF YOUR FINEST REFRESHMENTS- PREFERABLY STEAMING!"

Sam blinked and absently took the mug. "Well, I uh... We've got what you see here," he offered, waving at the counter in front of him. "Can I get you something from there?"

The other bent over and poked at a bottle critically. "THIS IS A MOST PICKLISH CONCOCTION. HAVE YOU NO FINE MIGNON?"

Sam stared. "I'm pretty sure mignon is a steak," he mumbled.

"Oh hey Sam," another voice came, drawing both of the bar occupants' attentions. It was Drae. "Stag just put a kettle on so if you want coffee I'm making some." She continued," Also,speaking of-"

She was interrupted by the dark-swathed person next to Sam brutally invading her space and seeming to peer at her closely. "AND WHAT STRANGE CREATURE MIGHT YOUR PET HERE BE?" It boomed electronically at them.

Drae reared back, but seemed generally unfazed. Her eyes raked up and down the figure and she grinned. "Dude, rad costume. Is that coat real wool?"

"AH! YOU HAVE TRAINED YOUR DOMESTICATED POPTART TO SPEAK," the unknown entity whirled back on Sam, snatching the mug away from him and flourishing it. "A WORTHY ACCOMPLISHMENT INDEED! BUT NOW," the stranger turned away and began striding towards the stove, calling back,"I MUST PARTAKE OF ZEE KETTLE!"

"He seems nice," Drae remarked mildly, raising an eyebrow at him.

Sam gave her an exasperated look, then spotted another guy now hovering by the bar. "Can I get you something?" he asked, wary of another bizarre encounter.

"Yes, hi, um. Do you have any shocktop?"

Sam sized him up. He was about Cas's height, maybe a bit taller, with dirty blonde hair that was pushed up a little in the front was wearing some form of medieval costume, and had little red streaks painted under one eye. The guy looked like a Lord Of The Rings extra or maybe some LARP festival reject.

Drae poked at his chain mail appreciatively, "Dude this is actual metal! Where'd you get it?" As she waited for an answer, she pawed quickly through the bottles on the counter and popped back up with one of the requested drinks _. I didn't even know we had those_ , Sam thought.

The guy grinned at Drae lopsidedly, seeming a bit unsure of her. "Um. Thanks," he said, accepting the bottle from her clawed gloves with only slight hesitation. "And it's actually leftover from another of Crowley's 'events'," he explained.

"Really?"

Middle Earth man scoffed. "Ol' Crowley's always has been one for parties," he explained. "He's actually in a pretty tame phase right now- we're all praying it lasts."

Sam shot a pointed look to the side of the living room where the subject of their conversation had just set up a game of what looked like ‘Pin the Balls on the Donkey.’ "This is tame?" he asked skeptically.

Nodding, the guy took a moment to swig at his beer. "Yup. He used to have some mandatory shindig about once a month. Last summer was the anniversary of some important battle thing where he’s originally from, so we all had to dress up like Vikings or Celts or whatever and beat on each other in the back lot for a few hours. That's actually where this came from," he explained, giving the collar of his chest plate a tug.

Drae was staring at their landlord with mistrust and something like grudging admiration. "I _knew_ he was an asshole," she grumbled.

The guy gave a short laugh. "That he most certainly is. I'm Leeson, by the way," he said, sticking out his hand for shaking.

"Sam."

"I'm Drae," the girl said, "Hey, you're Graves' cousin, right?"

"That's me," Leeson nodded then craned his neck to look around the room. "Speaking of which," he said, "I needed to talk to her. See you around, nice meeting you."

"See ya," Drae answered at the same time as Sam's "Later, man."

There was a brief moment of silence before Drae gave a sudden little bounce and poked Sam.

"Drae, what-"

"Sam," she said over him, "I've just remembered what I came to talk to you about."

_Oh, right. She did look like she wanted something._ He eyed her nervously. She had that look about her like she was plotting.

"Have you seen," she pressed on, ignoring his worried expression, "Cas and Stag."

He frowned, looking around. Stag was chatting with her organist friend and a few other people while Castiel hovered at her shoulder. _Nothing unusual to see here._ "They're right over there," Sam said, pointing. "I think-"

"Oh my God Sam," she huffed, "You're hopeless! I mean just- just-" Drae spent a moment staring at him helplessly and making irritated, sporadic little growling noises.

"English, Drae," Sam sighed. Her charade game was strong, but not that strong.

"Sam- how do you not see- you're looking but you aren't _looking,_ will you just  _look_ at them!"Her gaze snapped back to their two friends, and now she was gesturing at them, doing those weird little claw hands that reminded Sam of T-rex arms. After a second, she apparently decided that blank staring was not the response she was looking for and swatted his arm.

"Ow!" he protested loudly. It didn't actually hurt, but there were appearances to uphold.

"Shhhh," she demanded, pointing. Afraid she may actually reach up and forcibly turn his head, Sam made a show of looking to the direction she was demanding. As he watched, Cas absently reached out and lightly fondled the gauzy tip of one of Stag's bee wings. "What exactly am I looking at here?" he asked wryly.

"Sam, my oblivious friend, they were _made_ for each other."

Sam found himself smiling slightly as he finally figured out what she was trying to say. "Drae, you might have just said that first," his mouth twitched upwards, "you know I can't pick up on all your nano-subtleties."

She stared at him. "So you see it then?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I think the only two people in this room who aren't explicitly aware of some serious mutual vibes going on there are Cas and Stag."

"Exactly!" Drae grinned triumphantly, "we need to fix this- tonight!"

"Um," Sam said slowly, not really liking the idea of messing with a potential relationship between other people, let alone people he was close to. "Shouldn't we just let them figure it out?"

Drae was still looking at the couple in question, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "That's exactly what we're going to do," she said enigmatically, "we're just gonna... nudge them along a little.”

Sam sighed and looked at the assortment of alcohol in front of him. He was probably going to need it.

 

* * *

 

“You’re trying my non-patience, lady.” I said, waving away the clouds of noxious breath blooming from the overly painted lips of some tipsy hooker-nurse. This chick seriously had to be twice my age _. No dice cupcake_. She made one last slurred attempt to woo me before face planting into the armrest of the couch.

I sighed resignedly.

“SAM! Another one bites the dust!” I roared in the moose’s direction, setting my glass down on the coffee table next to an impressive array of Halloween peeps.  _Who the hell would eat those ass wipes with all the stuff Graves baked….Hmm…Graves…_

The woman next to me grunted like a walrus and redirected my disobedient thoughts. If I thought about sweets I'd think about Graves, who made them, and if I thought about Graves I'd think about that damned corset she was wearing that did amazing things for her hourglass and in my chest. _God, no_.

I stood and reached for Naughty Nurse's wrist. Hauling her up was a challenge, her arms were like noodles, but just as her head lulled back dangerously, another supporting forearm slipped under her neck.

I grunted a "thanks man," but then I recognized the guy. He'd been hovering around Graves all evening. _You’re that metal wearing-_

"You got a place for the light weights?" he asked, and I shuffled around to grab the ladies ankles, trying very hard not to look up the impossibly short skirt.

"Yeah." I jerked my head towards the darkened sliding door.

The balcony had become the catch-all of the party. Extra chairs and cauldrons crowded the narrow space, and as the evening wore on, it'd become a convenient dumping place for the people already too inebriated to wander back to their apartments. The railing was high enough to stop idiots from falling the six floors to the ground, and Cas actually insisted on placing the black-outers in his "sacred space", claiming the spirits infused the balcony with healing graces and would help them recover faster. Whatever, I did as I was told. Bodies on a balcony was better than bodies in the hall, or my bed.

Together, the armored guy and I hauled the blitzed lady through the doors and propped her in a chair. She clutched at us and attempted to feel up the gladiator, but she missed entirely and landed in a heap, sprawled across two more chairs.

"Well the night just got a little safer." I said, wiping off my hands after closing the sliding door.

The gladiator nodded, following my path to the kitchen bar. "That's Mrs. Rowena, she usually ends up like this at Crowley's shindigs. Well, she usually ends up _with_ Crowley," he shuddered, "in like a weird, maternal way....But she'll be sober and her normal egotistical self in a few hours."

He took a sip from a beer off the counter. I eyed him, wondering if he'd left the drink there earlier or just didn't care that he'd potentially shared face juice with a stranger.

"So you're Dean?"

I blinked at the guy. "Yes- but no, I'm Iron man." I clinked my awesome, inspired, and creatively made glove in his face. He didn't look impressed. My opinion of him dropped a few pegs. "Well, who and what are you?" My directness was strong tonight. Must be the alcohol. Might be the corseted lady on the line. It didn't matter. _Maybe it does, but… Denial. Denial is my friend._

"Oh I'm, well some kind of Viking, I don't remember now. There used to be more to the costume but," he paused to make air quotes with his fingers, one hand still wrapped around his repossessed beer, "I 'lost' the horned helmet in a terrible accident."

I snorted and was about to ask for an explanation because that had to be a good story, when something cold and pointy and _wrong_ connected with the back of my neck.

"Holy-" I spun around, fearing it was Drae's little dragon-monster-pet-thing but saw it was something much worse.

Crowley, swinging a black riding crop stood behind me grinning. "No, I'm afraid nothing holy here, Deano, just little old me and my frisky friend here, directly from the morgue." He waggled his eyebrows and patted his palm with the square flat end of the crop.

"Well, Ireland, glad you found something that'll do it for you." I said, leaning my back on the bar. Now, If I had my complete senses about me, I’d know it was idiotic of me to insult the man who owned our apartment building. But, what can I say. Don't drink kids.

Next to me, Leeson made an abortive noise in his throat before taking a long, long swig of his beer, looking anywhere but at me.

Crowley stopped swatting his hand and stared at me, eyes darkening. "It’s Scotland to you, you drunken squirrel. But I really I'm so glad, you see, I needed a volunteer for the night’s next event and you've just been so kind as to sign up."

I swallowed, annoyed when I should have been groveling.  _If I get us evicted Sam is going to kill me._ "No way in-"

Crowley reached out and dragged the crop across my throat, effectively silencing my protests. "The game is Karaoke, and your mates draw to see which song you sing. But I'll be picking the first song, since you know, my party." He batted his eyelashes grotesquely.

"Bite me." _Shut your mouth, Dean, karaoke isn't so bad._

He snapped the end of his prop against my chest and for the first time I noticed the area around us had gone still and quiet. "Oh is that so? Well we could switch to story time and Daddy Crowley will tell the long and socially embarrassing history of how three gents got banned from the swimming pool indefinitely. Though, honestly, it's our friend the Janitor, Alistair, that's really got the issue with that one. I don't care if you muggers went and-"

"I volunteer," a voice said, bursting through the quiet, horror filled bubble. Surprised, Crowley and I both looked to my left to see Graves standing there with her arms full of empty beer bottles, smile a touch more fierce than usual.

My eyes flicked between her and Crowley as they stared each other down and for a few heart beats I wasn't sure who looked scarier.

Then Crowley smiled again and we had a winner. That guy could be freaking creepy. "Well well, lucky me, two volunteers. I have just the thing. This way, follow me you lot." The cluster of people observing the exchange looked around, unsure. But then a few people shifted and like the sardines they were, they began filing after Crowley who was now gleefully waving his crop in the air like a museum tour guide.

Graves dumped her arm load of bottles in the trash and fell into step beside me in the stream of people flowing from our apartment to the girls’ across the hall.

“You didn't have to do that,” I grumbled, suddenly feeling sober as we shuffled into their living room and- _Where did he get a stage?_ There were speakers set up along the girls’ counter, and directly in front of that was a low stage armed with three microphones and a music stand. On the music stand was one of those big tablet things, and it was open to… _Oh God. That had better not be what I think it is._

“I love this song!” Graves exclaimed, hopping onto the stage and snatching up the tablet. “I remember hearing this in the car all the time when I was little!”

“You _would_ ,” I growled, glaring hatefully down at the brightly colored “ABBA” title mocking me from the screen in her hands. Bellbottoms and flowery vests flashed before my eyes, accompanied by wild mullets and tassels. I winced.

“Oh, don't be so cynical,” she shot me a dirty look as she scrolled down through the lyrics. “Hey,” she muttered after a moment, “This is the movie version.”

“The what?” I asked darkly, a nasty suspicion beginning to creep up on me. ABBA movies…. That didn't sound good.

“Yeah, you know, _Mamma Mia_. It’s the only ‘chick flick’ we don't have to tie Drae down to watch with us.”

“Well, that makes it so much better,” I snipped.

“It’ll be fun,” she assured me, a defiant look in her eyes. “Crowley is just screwing with us, so this is our chance to stick it to him, and dammit, I'm going to enjoy it.”

Her motivational speech couldn't have been more effective, especially with the way she was cradling the tablet so righteously against her…um.. well. Her chest. Although that did have a rather detrimental effect on my ability to maintain attention on her words. Or maybe it was more inspiring? I wasn't quite sure _what_ it was doing for me, but it was definitely doing something.

Graves set the tablet back on the stand and tilted it so that we’d both be able to see it from our respective mics. “OK, well, I’ll sing the first verse, and then you could pick it up, and we can do the choruses together. That alright?”

“Yeah, perfect,” I sighed, straightening my spine and puffing my chest out a bit. _You can do this Dean. Knock ‘em dead._

Crowley crop-swatted his way through the assembly to the stage and grabbed the other mic, clearing his throat into it and tapping the head. “Alright everyone,” he addressed the crowd that had followed us over from our apartment, “if you’d just settle yourselves comfortably, we can get started with the first song.” He leered at us smugly from over his shoulder. “We have our first volunteers up. On my left here is Dean.”

Someone in the back started clapping enthusiastically, and I shot a venomous look towards my brother, who was smacking his giant meat shovels together. He trailed off sheepishly in an embarrassingly off-beat manner when no-one but Leeson beside him joined in. Sam finally quit altogether and shrugged at me as if to say, “Sorry man, I tried.”

I grabbed my mic to start teaching all the spectators some new curse words and some respect when I was cut off by a sudden wave of thunderous applause as Crowley introduced Graves.

The aggressiveness of the whoops and yelling struck me as offensive, but it was the cat whistles that really raised my man hackles. No one cat calls a lady. I shaded my eyes to glare over the crowd, but before I could pick the low-life prick out, the first techno-colored chords of our song had begun. Resolved to at least outshine the scumbag should he dare show his face on the stage, I straightened my shoulders and tried to ignore the drop in my gut when the annoyingly retro beat kicked in.

Breathe, _breathe_.

I looked over at Graves who was well...going with it, swaying pleasingly, _way_ too pleasingly and 100% focused on the coming verse. The protective velociraptor inside my chest leveled up to at least a Nessie. I had half a mind to bundle her off stage and out of the _unworthy_ sight of non-believers- _Oh God, Cas's crazy IS contagious._

_"I wasn't jealous before we met_

_Now every man I see is a potential threat._

_And I'm possessive, it isn't nice_

_You've heard me saying that smoking was my only vice."_

The pointed male-ness of the opening line didn't bode well for my part of the duet but she was singing and the rest was lost on me because  _I_ was lost. Hot damn. The way Graves worked the creaky stage, sauntering, play-smoking and exuding possessive confidence was quite, shall we say, unexpected.

Then, horrifyingly fast, my moment had arrived. The chorus rose and so did my hopes and dreams that I'd get off this stage without having to burn my identity and start over in Canada because of humiliation and shame. We actually probably...maybe...sounded good, with Graves throwing in some harmony. My verse came along and I loosened up.

_"It was like shooting a sitting duck_

_A little small talk, a smile and baby I was stuck."_

I made my way through my bit safely before a Drae explosion happened. During the next few seconds of instrumental, she careened onto stage from behind us, somehow flopping over the bar and speakers in- _flippers?_ \- It was all I could do to keep it together and sing on tune as she did her best attempt at marching across the stage.

_”I still don’t know what you’ve done with me,_

_A grown up woman should never fall so easily._

_I feel a kind of fear when I don’t have you near.”_

I caught sight of Stag as I rounded down into the next chorus. She had a snorkel and mask twirling over her head like a floppy baton and joined the marching as we all ran through the chorus. Well, at least our act would be a hard one to follow.

As the last verse died away and enthusiastic applause rained down from the crowd, the girls glommed each other. I heard Graves ask her roommates where they'd gotten their flippers and snorkel gear and saw Drae fling an arm towards an unfortunate man now wearing only an orange speedo.

_Speedo? It’s October man._

Stepping down, I pushed my way to where Leeson and Sam still lounged in the back. Castiel had joined them and he was holding a mug of something steaming. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet and when he tipped close I caught a whiff of its contents and nearly gagged.

"I think your mic was off." Sam said, but he'd always been a terrible liar, so I just dug an elbow into his side and otherwise ignored him.

"Cas, what did Sam mix you, and why would you drink it. Seriously that smells like ass.”

Cas grinned and took a sip. "It's my hangover remedy." His words were a little muddled. I squinted at him, was...was Castiel....drunk?

"Wait, wouldn't you drink that when you _have_ a hangover? You know, post-drunk?" Leeson piped in, listing into Castiels arm. I noticed Leeson now had a full cup of something stronger than beer clutched in his hand.

Castiel's face compressed as he thought about this. While he was distracted I considered snatching his mug and hurling it out the window to save us all from air poisoning, but I hesitated too long.

He took a breath and began. "You see, our body- bodies?- convert alcohol into formmmmmaldehyde to be metabolized inside our bodies -body?- which as you may, or may _not_ know, is poisonous to our most mortal and humble visage. This drink," he tapped the mug against his forehead, "sthaps the ferrrrrmentation and passes it out with none harm to you." He dropped into a curtsy after his explanation and nearly backhanded Leeson, who, still leaning on Cas' arm, was in range.

I looked between the two inebriated men and my brother. Sam shrugged.

As Cas came up for air I de-mugged him and stood him upright.

"Hey Cas, buddy, why don't you go eat something? Grab something greasy and full of animal."

He exhaled loudly into my face. _Uhg, my eyes_. "Dean you know I don't eat creatures of aminals," he reached up and cocked his ceremonial hat- _How has he managed to kept a hold of that?_ \- to the side in a precarious way, "but tonight, a man’s gotta claim domingo!"

With that, he teetered purposely forward, moving off towards the tables of food.

I looked down at the mug, wondering just what exactly was in it.

"Jack Daniels."

"Excuse me?"

"I've been spiking his tea with Jack when he wasn't paying attention." Sam said, nodding towards Cas, who'd been distracted by some loose tissue paper hanging down off of the lights.

I gaped at my brother. "Dude, _dude_. You didn't," he just shrugged, "Oh my God. That's the best thing I've heard all night."

Sam let a smug smile lift his face. "What can I say, I'm getting into the spirit of things." He brandished a fist halfheartedly.

"About damn time." I grinned and took a swig of  _hack, hack,_ "Uuuuuggggg, noooo."  _Cough. Bad mistake. The worst_.

"You ok, Dean?" A small hand patted on my back as I hacked. That was _a lot_ of alcohol and something else very herbal.

Stag stepped around me, withdrawing her hand from my back as I managed to choke out a, "yeah, fine."

Her concern shifted into a smile and she moved away from me to hug Leeson while I dumped the mug out into a passerby’s cup.

"Hi Leeson, how are you?"

He one arm hugged her back and bobbed his head, grinning broadly. “Super.”

Stag stepped away and looked around expectantly, "Did Cat make it?"

"No," Leeson’s face fell dramatically, "she’s with her family." He shuffled his feet glumly.

_Wait. Cat?_

"Oh, she'll be back soon, Leeson." Stag patted his arm in a consoling way.

"Cat’s your girlfriend, right?” Sam asked. I glared at Leeson for the answer.

A dreamy look passed over his face and he took a wistful taste of his drink. "Yeaaaah. She's a cat this year. A cute lil' kitty," another sip, "so cute." He giggled in the way that only tipsy men can. “Cat’s a cat.”

I blinked. "So...you and Graves...I mean, Graves and you..."

"They're cousins, Dean." Sam said out of the corner of his mouth.

Realization dawned on me. And anger, oh yeah, Iron man SMASH. This little prick brother of mine _knew_ \- I continued to fume as Stag asked after and was directed towards Castiel, who had two burger buns pressed over his ears and was batting at something over his head. She wondered off and shortly the buns were disposed of.

I shoved Sam a little ways away from Leeson who was still, I don't know, day dreaming or something.

"Dean what the-"

"You knew?" I hissed.

Sam puffed his chest out and did that looming thing he did. "Yeah, because I asked, because I'm not a child."

"Look moose," I stabbed my finger at his chest, which was still basically in my face. "I don't care if you think you're _so_ mature, you my friend, are about to feel the wrath of God."

I must have looked pretty freaking scary because Sam backed off, palms raised to pacify me.

"Take it easy man. I was going to tell you, but you got Crowleyed." His shoulders dropped and he looked me straight in the eyes. "Dean, if you like her, just go talk to her."

No. No. I was NOT getting the relationship pep talk from my giant _little_ brother.

"I do not like Graves." I spluttered.

"Uh." Sam's eyes had shifted and fixed on something over my shoulder.

I screwed my eyes shut and silently cursed myself and whatever entity was in charge of universal timing. Could I have blundered bigger? Every chick flick in the history of ever warns about this plot twist, not that I watch chick flics… Slowly, with lead in my ass, I turned and saw Graves standing behind me, two desserts in her hands.

"Um, here," she handed me one of the little tinfoil wrapped sweets, passing the other to Sam. "I had these stashed so we could have some." She didn't look at me and her smile didn't reach her eyes like usual.

I looked down and…Shit, I'm an _idiot...Fuck._ In my hand was a bite-sized pie. Apple. _Someone please vaporize me._

Sam's eyes were wide and frantic, but there was nothing he could do to save this, I'd screwed up royally all by my miserable self.

Graves took a few steps away, slipping back into the party. "Oh and good singing, Dean, you..ah.. you sounded really good, it was fun." Her smile cracked my arc-reactor heart, and then she was gone.

I turned vacantly to Sam. "Smooth," he said flatly, turning away.

I looked down at the little pie in my hands.

I freaking _hate_ Halloween.

 

* * *

 

The evening went downhill after karaoke died off and when Crowley introduced his "party games". The activities he called games were usually humiliating, awkward, gross, or just plain sadistic. More often than not, they were all of those things.

Sam glowered down at the little plastic skull full of some dangerous looking, luminous blue concoction in his hands. There was a huge, smoking cauldron of the stuff in the center of the room, and yes, it was glowing. He had no idea what it's alcohol content was, but it was strong.

Crowley required that every person left at the party take a skull-cup and drain it before each game started. He checked, and if he thought someone was skimping, he’d have them fill it up and then would watch them drink it. Twice.

Now, they all had their little skull of incredibly questionable drink and were sitting cross-legged on the carpet, coffee table having been moved out of the way, and were about to start playing Crowley's newest kind of ego-torture.

The apartment owner was currently pacing around inside the ring of people and twirling a little plastic pitchfork that he’d repossessed from a middle-aged dame in a cheap, skimpy devil costume in his hands. "Alright you lot," he said gruffly, addressing the 30-plus people left, "here's the deal."

The collective air was one of unhappy tension, and Crowley let the silence drag on for way longer than necessary before continuing. "I was initially going to make this next activity the well-beloved and overused 'Seven Minutes in Heaven-"

There was an immediate groan from his audience and he waggled his pitchfork at them. "-But, after our last stint with our upright twister, I'm afraid we just don't have time to get very far with that one." Crowley grinned broadly and he didn't give them time to be relieved. "So," he plowed on briskly, "We will be playing 'One Minute in Heaven’."

Protest erupted around the circle. "C'mon!" A more-than buzzed Dean growled to Sam's left, "The stupid 'Heaven' games went out of style in like, the seventies!"

Sam just hunkered down and slouched in on himself, taking a resigned sip out of his skull. Stag’s friend Mish had drawn a mustache on it earlier and christened it "Heinemann". He still wasn't sure why she'd done either of those things, but he was concerned about how the marker had begun to smudge. Concentrating on running a hand over the bottom of his face in case any of the ink had been transferred from cup to human, he'd missed most of the rest of the coherent complaining.

When he looked back up, Crowley was leaning on his little pitchfork and was holding a nondescript glass bottle in his other hand. "Alright so we'll start with you," he barked, pointing the bottle at the guy who he'd stuffed into a maid's dress earlier, "He'll spin to see who goes into the closet-"

At this point Dean spoke up again, "Hey! This is our place, you can't just shove random people into our closets!"

Crowley raised an eyebrow. "This is my building, as far as I'm concerned, they're my closets too. What's'a matter? You got any controlled substances or bed-slaves you're hiding from us?"

That shut Dean up pretty quickly aside from a growl, so their landlord continued. "Anyways, if you find any hidden sweethearts feel free to invite them to join, but otherwise let's get on with it. After this chap spins, that person will go into the closet. Then the next person in the circle spins, and whoever this majestic piece of glassware chooses will be lucky enough to have sixty whole seconds of fun with the one in the closet." As he bent down to place the bottle on the floor, he winked around the assembly. "Gents," he said, "if you can get it done in the allotted time frame, you have my respect."

Graves caught Sam's eye from across the circle and rolled her eyes dramatically. Sam snickered, glad his emotionally constipated brother’s remarks earlier didn’t seem to have had an effect on the girls general attitude. Really, Dean needed to be punched sometimes. Hard.

The first spin was set in motion, and the game was on.

Sam honestly didn't pay attention for the most part. Conversations were struck up whenever the bottle wasn't in motion and no one he knew had been selected, so his thoughts were pretty much elsewhere. Currently, he was trying to avoid getting involved in Dean's betting pool about who'd have to go into the closet next and halfheartedly listening to a much sobered Cas's proposed algorithms for predicting how the moment and angle of the bottle would turn out.

"Perhaps we must take more into account the excess resistance caused by more carbon dioxide and nitrogen present in this room than in normal conditions," Cas was saying, "The phenomenon caused by so many people in this small of a space might register a slightly different air resistance constant than a more temperate environment."

On Sam's opposite side, Dean groaned and gave Castiel a dirty look. He'd been collecting money from a skinny Catwoman and she'd paused to listen in on Cas's weirdness.

As the low monotone of Cas ran on to his right and the betting pool grew larger on the left, Sam fell into a comfortable routine of sipping at his skull, glancing around at whichever poor saps were forced into their coat closet, and randomly tuning in to conversations around him.

For the most part, the people chosen by the spinning bottle were drunk enough to enjoy the game, coming out with tousled hair and red faces, but some of them would leave their prison prim and proper and obviously not having done anything aside from, in Dean’s words, “making sure the sticks were still up their asses.”

Only a few people Sam knew had been forced through the ordeal so far, and thank you God, he hadn't been chosen himself. Looking back on the last few rounds, Leeson had been shoved in with a girl Sam didn't know, and he'd come out looking mildly disgusted and a lot like _he'd_ been the one taken advantage of. Graves and her friend Mish had both been selected in the same round, but they just sat in the closet giggling and whispering loudly and came out none the worse for wear.

The game seemed to drag on, the bottle having passed through Sam's hands a few spins earlier, now about two-thirds of the way around the circle. Sam was staring at his scull's fading facial hair when Dean roughly elbowed him in the ribs again.

"What the hell man?" He hissed.

Dean raised an eyebrow unapologetically. "Your girl's up." He was starting to slur his words ever so slightly.

"My what?" His brother waved a hand across the circle to where Drae had just risen slowly, looking like she might bite Crowley as he advanced on her with the blindfold. "Your lady friend with the demon lizard. Wha'zzer name. It's like the headphone company."

Sam glared at the older Winchester. "Headphones, really man? Her name's not that hard."

A guy a few spaces down dressed as Han Solo- I think?-got up and swaggered towards the closet after the freshly-blinded Drae. Sam squashed a little spike of irritation. _Where did that come from?_

Dean was chuckling darkly at him now, and Sam turned back to him sharply. "What?"

His brother smirked ruefully. "It's funny how you don't even-"

Dean was interrupted by the closet door exploding outward and Han stumbling out with a vicious red mark shaped suspiciously like Drae's hand on his face and a bleeding lip. That was only twelve seconds, Sam mused. _Wait, was I counting?_

Drae came out growling and pulling the blindfold off, whirling the fabric into a thin rope and snapping it at the fleeing guy. "This is a stupid game," she spat at Crowley, who was watching amusedly from a safe distance away. When he made no move to try and force them back in for the rest of their time, Drae spun on her heel and chucked the blindfold over her shoulder before stalking over to plop between Graves and Stag, who cooed over her appropriately. Han Solo slipped out of the apartment as unobtrusively as possible, and didn't come back.

Sam saw Drae discretely wipe a speck of blood off of her own face and she screwed her expression up as if tasting something unpleasant. Realizing she must have actually bit the guy made Sam dissolve into manly giggles accompanied by some twisted sense of pride.

Dean gave him a rather worried look and scooted a few inches further away as the bottle was passed along.

An outraged squawk came from the girls' side of the circle, and Sam looked over to see Graves and Drae protectively hovering -wrapping around, in Drae's case- a concerned looking Stag.

As Cowley deftly managed to pry her away from the safety of her friends and towards the closet, Sam noticed Castiel looking rather distressed beside him. Seeing as what had just happened with Drae, Sam thought he understood the feeling. Stag was adorable, and had this weird effect on everyone close to her that made her seem like the last untainted deposit of the Earth's most rare, precious resource.

While Cas was sizing up the rest of the circle with suspicion, Sam was watching the glass bottle come slowly to a stop, pointing at.... Himself.

He stared at it dumbly for a moment, then saw Drae gesturing at him less-than subtly.

Then he remembered their conversation from earlier. His mind went into planning mode. The bottle was close enough that maybe...

Sam pretended to sneeze loudly, doubling over and using the movement as a distraction to stealthily nudge the bottle a bit to his right. It was now pointing wonderfully, perfectly, conveniently at Castiel.

The faces of Graves, Drae and Mish spontaneously lit up, and Sam inwardly preened, giving Cas a nudge with his shoulder. "Go commune with your bee, Cas," he laughed.

His friend stumbled to his feet on those ridiculous wooden shoes, looking dazed and yet deeply pleased at the same time. Sam shoved him again, propelling him towards the closet. "Shoo."

One minute later, Stag and Cas emerged. Stag looked somewhat ruffled and one of her blush spots had effectively transferred residence to Cas's cheek. They were both beaming, and their fingers were casually entwined.

Graves started clapping.

 

* * *

 

The last party game was _finally_ over. It was many hours past midnight, and most of the stragglers were shuffling around like zombies, chatting in small groups. Sam was hovering by the balcony door, wondering exactly how they were going to relocate the pile of passed-out party goers that had been dumped there, when he heard the slight screech of a mic being turned on.

Groaning inwardly, he turned to see Crowley leaning against the counter twirling said microphone in his hand. "Listen up everyone," he said, "I'd say the life is beginning to drain out of our little shindig due to the late hour, so once I've announced the winners of the costume contest, your debt will be paid and you're all free to go." He chuckled. "I'll actually have to request that you leave as soon as we're done so our cleanup crew can get started."

Sam frowned. Crowley had never mentioned a costume contest. Or a clean up crew. He mentally shrugged. _Oh well, less work for us._

The crowd still able to use their legs had migrated towards the stage, and Crowley whipped a little note card out of his suit pocket. "And the winner of 'Lamest Costume' is...." He paused to let the anticipation grow, _"Dean Winchester!"_

There were a few isolated people applauding, and some widespread laughter.

Sam's brother stalked towards the stage, looking like he was about to throttle their landlord.

The little European man raised an eyebrow at the advancing Winchester, wisely maneuvering the music stand between them. "Prizes will be announced after the winners, no need to come up to the stage just now."

Dean halted his charge but Sam still rose to run interception.

Crowley continued. "The prize for 'Best Costume' goes to...." Another pause.

Sam couldn't appreciate this one because he was trying to restrain a royally pissed-off Dean. Even though he couldn't bring himself to pity Dean, he was aware that the poor guy had been having a pretty crappy night.

Sam managed to get Dean to give up murdering the apartment owner just as the aforementioned man bellowed out the next name.

He and Dean stared at each other for a second, then turned towards the stage. "Did you catch that?" Sam asked.

"Fuck no, his accent is too stupid to understand."

Drae appeared next to Crowley, and by the smug look she shot in their direction, Sam deduced it must have been her name called. He hummed to himself absently as Dean returned to the stage, realizing he didn't _actually_ know Drae's real name. Her parents couldn’t have actually named her ‘Drae’, right?

Crowley was pulling the two aside, probably to discuss the terms of their prizes as the rest of the party goers began picking themselves up and leaving. With Crowley, Sam wasn't at all sure if it was going to be something awesome or something horrible. It could be a month of free utilities or it could be force into going to work in a banana costume for three weeks. But judging by the rising tension in his brother shoulders and the 100+ proof bitch face Drae was pulling, he was pretty certain it wasn’t something good.

Reading the writing on the wall, Sam started across the room, seeing Graves heading quickly toward them as well.

They weren’t fast enough. Dean grabbed the front of Crowley’s vest and yanked him in close, hissing something in his face before Sam could pull Dean off.

Crowley stumbled a few steps back in surprise before schooling a bemused look on his face. He smoothed the front of his clothes, “Shocking really, after all I’ve done for you. Well, have fun, my little crew, let’s do this again sometime, shall we?” Without waiting for an answer, Crowley crossed to the door, leaving them in their nearly empty, trashed apartment.

“That fucker.” Drae spit.

“What…what did he say?” Graves asked softly, lightly touching the girl on the arm.

“We,” she said, angrily pulling off her scaly gloves “ have been bestowed the ‘privilege’ of cleaning up. That’s the prize. ‘ _Prize_ ’, he said.”

There was a moment of silence.

“We’ll stay to help you, won’t we, Leeson.” Mish finally said, coming to stand beside Drae.

Leeson moved closer, nodding. “I don’t have anything in the morning.”

Sam looked around at the small group. Cas and Stag had drifted into the huddle as well, and together there was eight of them. That’s two more than they planned the whole party with.

Sam inhaled deeply, “Let’s just pack up the food and trash and leave the rest for the morning.”

Graves was already pulling large trash bags from under their sink, silently collecting cups and paper plates.

Sam looked questioningly to Dean who was being uncharacteristically quiet after his near-assault on Crowley and saw that he was watching Graves with a clenched jaw.

“Dean, you ok?” Sam asked quietly as the others set to picking up.

The muscles in Dean’s face relaxed and he nodded, reaching up and snatching at a loose streamer.

Sam watched his brother a few moments longer, puzzling over his mood, before turning to the task at hand.

Drae flopped over the back of the couch and landed in a roll near the coffee table, scooping up a remote and snapping on the TV.

She flipped through channels until crossing one that was playing a re-run of Hocus Pocus. No one complained and the crew slipped into diligent silence.

Sometime after 4:00 am, Mish and Leeson were finally assured it would be fine for them to leave. So they’d shuffled down the hall, arms loaded down with food and sweets to last them the weekend as their prize for a job well done.

The remaining six had dropped wherever it was comfortable in the girls apartment, all vacant expressions and exhausted bodies. Cas and Stag occupying the recliner, comfortably folded around each other while Dean and Drae sprawled on the couch. Neither one had wanted to forfeit the comfy spot to the other so they’d built a pillow and leg barrier between their differences and temporarily called off their war. Sam’d dropped to a seat with his back against the couch, legs stretched out under the coffee table, back of his head resting on what he assumed was Drae’s shoulder but at this point he couldn’t be bothered to care. Graves also sat curled against the couch, arms wrapped tightly around her legs. The TV still played an old horror flick but no one really payed attention. And as the night lifted, one by one, they all dropped off into sleep.

The next morning, when Mish came to help with the de-decorating she found all six still deeply and comfortably asleep. Drae’s nose was pressed into Sam’s shirt collar and Sam, with his head slumped a little to the side, snored softly. Sometime in the night, Dean had extracted himself and moved Graves to the couch, and now the man slept on his side on the floor, one of Graves hands lightly dangling down on his shoulder. Cas and Stag were still wound around each other, Stag’s cheek pressed gently against the sleek fabric across Castiel’s chest that rose and fell with contented sleep.

Mish backed out slowly and, smiling, pulled the door closed. _I ship it_. she thought, and padded softly away down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween from Graves and Drae! 
> 
> This Special Halloween episode is clearly WAY longer than we thought it was going to be, but damn, it was fun to write. We squeezed in as many referenced as was tastefully possible, but I wonder if you'll be able to spot them all....? 
> 
> Also a EXTRA special cameo to our dear obsession, ZEE CAPTAIN. You can check out more of that beautiful BEAUTIFUL work by googling "Romantically Apocalyptic", you will not be disappointed, seriously life changing.  
> Any hooooooo, we hope this has put you in the spooky spirit, stay safe,
> 
> hugs and snacks,
> 
> Drae and Graves

**Author's Note:**

> More to come huhuhu Comments welcome, actually, more than welcome, you better freaking comment. We worked hard on this so tell us what you think, dammit.


End file.
